


The Dinner

by chantefable



Category: J’ai vu le loup le renard chanter (Traditional Song)
Genre: Food, Gen, Metaphors, Spies & Secret Agents, Suspense, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: A lion dines in the forest, resting on his laurels, but is reminded that there are plenty of others who may outwit him, pursuing their own ends.Or, an off-duty secret agent suffers from curiosity, indigestion and unresolved sexual tension.





	The Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/gifts).



There were many people at the La Forêt restaurant. And yet it was pleasantly quiet: the patrons merely murmured, confident that whatever they had to say would surely hold the interest of the addressee, and the light-footed waiting staff all but glided with wines and exquisite meals. 

In places like this, the Agent felt as if even smiles and glances emitted the softest, supernatural sounds that mingled with faint chimes of crystal and silverware, until he was swimming in a most luxurious river of cultured discretion. Fine dining in France was something he would have only consented to give up under torture, and even then, he would have been lying through his teeth.

The scents of various roasts and wines mingled in the air with transparent clouds of cigar smoke and sensuous chemical notes of expensive perfumes. Half-way through the meal, the Agent looked up on impulse, his gaze darting across the hall. 

Really, he could not tell what prompted him to strain his eyes against the shimmering chandelier lights when his beautiful coquilles Saint-Jacques were calling him from the impeccably white porcelain plate. But something had stirred his senses, a strange disquiet pricking him under the ribs like a poisoned needle. Seated by the far wall, there were two men and a woman, all three of them delicately picking at their sophisticatedly presented portions of gigot d'agneau. Nothing about their irreproachable posture and cultivated disdain suggested that anything was amiss, and the three of them appeared to be engrossed in exactly the kind of unhurried, pleasant conversation that begged to take place in an establishment like this. 

The woman sat in profile to the Agent, and, in a game of chiaroscuro, her small, straight nose and full lips – painted a pale, almost sickly violet shade – were in stark contrast to the paneling of the walls. She was dressed in white and gray, the flowing gown spilling over the chair and blending with the drapes of the long white tablecloth, so that she seemed to be floating on a cloud, or emerging from a tub of whipped cream. The dress bared the sharp lines of her collar bones, accentuated by an immodest De Beers creation. Matching diamonds dangled from her ears, and the Agent could easily appreciate their size even though he was too far away to see the color of the woman's eyes. 

(However, the distance did not prevent him from noting her prominent teeth, slightly protruding and making her resemble a pouting bunny.)

The man almost facing the Agent was plain in comparison, with graying black hair parted to the side and combed in a rather old-fashioned way and a thick, groomed moustache above a too wide slit of a predatory mouth. He was dressed without any attempt at simplicity, but with elegance that could not be anything but habitual. And somehow everything this man did, from the way he deftly worked with his knife and fork through succulent meat to the way he blinked, slowly and very rarely, like a deep water fish, came across as glum and vaguely repellent. He reminded the Agent of a leaking barrel of oil.

('Un llop amb pell d'ovella,' thought the Agent, though why, he struggled to say. It was not like the man was trying to appear in any way meek or coy; his vile wolfishness was merely toned down, held back for the sake of propriety, so that he fit in perfectly with the herd of eagerly chewing, blissfully unaware guests.)

The other man the Agent could not easily observe: the way the three of them sat around the table, he mostly saw a muscled back in a fashionable suit, its cut borderline avant-garde, and a hint of a firm jaw line. He had ginger hair, but the restaurant was so richly illuminated that it was positively sparkling with all shades of gold and copper. Occasionally, he would turn and the Agent would see a sharp nose with thin nostrils, bright eyes of indistinct color, and strangely dainty, elegant ears. The man paid more attention to the lamb than to his dinner companions, who in turn were immersed in a leisurely back-and-forth, only occasionally including him. 

His answers must have been short or monosyllabic, and yet the close-mouthed smiles of the diamonds woman and the oil barrel man hinted at enjoyment, though whether it stemmed from amusement or some macabre anticipation, the Agent could not decide. Normally he wouldn't think that two sharply dressed men and a woman in a Givenchy dress having a posh dinner together was something sinister; this, however, uncomfortably made him think of a feast of vultures.

The Agent took a bite without even tasting the tangerine sauce, and struggled to pinpoint why exactly he kept looking at those three.

As the evening went on, he decided to excuse himself to the restroom for the sole purpose of getting a closer look at the odd company on the way.

Up close, the slick, wolf-like man had all the characteristics of a popular politician according to Aristophanes: a horrible voice, bad breeding, and a vulgar manner. The deceptively meek woman – the Agent heard her being called Signora Lepre – was obviously at ease and thriving in their back-and-forth, but had the agitated disposition of someone who was constantly desirous and hungry, and secretly feared their precious possessions would be taken away. 

But it was the red-haired man that had captured the Agent's imagination: slim and agile, with a soft, indescribable voice and unintelligible pronunciation, he seemed to steer the conversation with very few words, and yet the Wolf and the Hare gazed at him with almost love-sick admiration and immediately responded, led down the path he suggested, be it further insults, further drivel, or yet another round of dessert they were about to dig into. The fanciful concoction reminded of some devilish chocolate bush adorned with golden sugar-spun spheres and ruby red berries, floating in a lake of champagne.

Just as the Agent was about to tear his eyes away and disappear behind the doors that led to the corridor and necessary discretion, the Fox flared his elegant nostrils and sharply turned his head, meeting the Agent's stare.

The dinner abruptly rose from the pit of the Agent's stomach right up to his throat, and he hastened to shut the door behind himself.

Under the gleaming lights, he washed his face and rinsed the taste of bile out of his mouth, chasing away the inexplicable fear. His pounding heart gradually slowed, and his reaction abruptly seemed ridiculous.

Clearly, Operation Ysengrimus had exhausted him. He was paranoid. He was imagining things. 

Heaving a sigh, he resolved to go back to the dining hall and finish his delightful dinner. Giving himself one last look in the mirror, he took in his own flushed cheeks and water droplets lingering in his leonine mane, and then, behind himself, a sneering, savage red fox.

Agent Leon turned around.

**Author's Note:**

> Un llop amb pell d'ovella - a wolf in sheep's clothing in Catalan
> 
> lepre (f) - hare in Italian
> 
> Ysengrimus - a series of anthropomorphic Latin fables by Nivardis, featuring the wolf (Isengrimus) and the fox (Reinardus)


End file.
